Grayscale

-Chapter 8-

Munching on the chips in the bag, I think about the two texts I received. My other hand curls around my bag of chocolates protectively, my supply of the only kind of sweets I like, a comforting presence. Littered around my bed are drained Capri Suns and empty bottles of lemonade. Lemonade and chocolate. My two favorite things in the world, but when mixed together, they are revolting. I sigh, not wanting to pick up my mess later, content to sit on my bed and eat forever. It is during this time I wish time never passed. The idea that I can sit on this bed forever and not move and never make any decisions or do anything is so alluring but impossible.

I know I can't stall forever, but I just don't want to decide. Why must deciding be so hard? Why can't you continue walking straight instead of choosing to turn left or right? Because there is no path that leads straight ahead, and that is the truth.

I fall back onto the bed, groaning. The mattress caves in a little, cushioning my fall. Closing my eyes, I can imagine all different types of future scenarios before me. Who am I kidding? I've known all along the answer inside me. Grabbing the phone, typing, see you at seven then.

My eyes fall to the chocolate bag that I'm holding. Sighing, I unwrap the small sweet, popping it into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue, the sensational flavor spreading everywhere. Slowly, I stuff all the chocolate into my mouth, one by one, as I wait for seven to roll around the clock.

* * *

(7:00)

I sit patiently, waiting for whatever I am supposed to wait for. I rub my palms together, sweat colliding with each other, trying not to regret my decision. I'm not looking back, no matter what. It's time I stop hesitating and doubting and learn to accept my choice fully.

"Marley Aspen!"

My head snaps up. I grin. "Sierra. Hey. What are we doing that's so urgent today? And you're late. I've been waiting for five minutes."

"No, I'm not late. You're early. It's seven precise, like I said." She grabs the phone I am holding in my hand and turns it on, pointing to the bright screen. "See? Seven. I like to be punc-tu-al," she says, jabbing the air with each syllable.

"No, you're late," I stubbornly insist. "People are supposed to come early, to everything. For example, if you had a meeting, you would want to come early, not on time. On time is late. On time is frowned upon because it means you barely made it."

"No," Sierra says. "On time means on time. Late is arriving after the set schedule. Being punctual is arriving at the given time. There is a difference. If you want, we can go to a library instead and pour through the definition in a dictionary."

I laugh. "Okay, whatever. But still, being early is better. What do you want to do today anyways?"

"You up for some more soul-searching?"

"What are we doing now?"

Sierra smiles, a devious look overcoming her. "Today, we are going to your world."

I almost fall off the seat I'm sitting on. "My world? I don't even know what world I belong in. What do you mean by my world?"

Sierra sighs. "Marley, we all know what world your world is. There's a difference between belonging somewhere and wanting to be somewhere, remember? Your world right now is high school. And like it or not, high school people party during the weekends." A look of panic crosses my face. This isn't what I bargained for. I won't return, I can't. What if I slip through that tunnel I took so long to get out of again? "Don't worry, nothing is going to happen. It's just one night, observing from the outside, if you really want. But if you don't open yourself up to this possibility that this is maybe where you should stay, then you'll never get anywhere except wistfully dream forever."